


say you'll never leave (my dreams)

by bbabyhoney



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: M/M, Some Fluff, post movie events, protective collins, they get it on, tiny bit of Collins/Farrier if you really squint, tommy is there, we assume everyone got off the train together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 16:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11650566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbabyhoney/pseuds/bbabyhoney
Summary: the one in which collins and alex want to feel alive and use each other to do so, it's late evening and they've just escaped a war zone





	say you'll never leave (my dreams)

**Author's Note:**

> i think we all needed this, hope yous enjoy
> 
>  
> 
> title from dreams by dua lipa

Alex taps his foot, chin resting in the crook of his elbow as he drifts in and out of a deep sleep that unsettles him because all he can still taste is ghastly water and it makes him want to choke. He hadn't a clue how to keep his eyes open, or to flood the oil slicked brine from his mind. 

He’s bustled to the side as someone sits down next to him, even though there was barely any room in the corner of this rickety looking tent anymore. After the train, the jumble of soldiers and other service men, RAF, navy, hundreds of army, had been ferried into a makeshift base camp in some secluded hills. 

The young soldier arches a brow, face full of exhaustion and probably pained, eyes focusing on the soft grey slacks of the man who's decided to set up his bed basically on top of Alex’s own. “There's no room, mate,” Alex says lowly, voice quiet as not to disturb the others that breathed low with sleep around them, tone a little hoarse. Everything about him dully ached. 

“It's the only place there is room,” The man says, and Alex is yet to catch a glimpse of his face, but by the view he had of a blue jacket, it was some fucker from the Air Force. The man laughs lowly, “Mate,” he drawls, palm pressing against the blanket that's half tucked under Alex’s chin. His thumb brushes across the grey, bobbled material, and Alex thinks that if it only moved an inch closer, it would slide across his Cupid's bow and over his upper lip. The mans knuckles are deep purple, red raw and still bloody, and Alex can smell the copper scent on his nose. It's nicer than smelling salt. 

Alex scoffs, watches as the man expertly undoes his boots with one hand and neatly places them at the foot of the sleeping area, before he lays back, not bothering to discard the uncomfortable looking jacket over his shoulders. His shirt is still powder blue, a little creased but neat, and his tie is still knotted at the top of his throat, almost choking. He didn't even bloody look as if he’d been to war yet. 

Their eyes meet a moment later, and Collins lets the corner of his mouth pull up into a little smirk. “You're one of those from the boat,” He says, glancing at the remnants of the dark oil that were still obvious on Alex’s subtly grimy face. Some black spotted at the top of his ear, glued to his eyelid and a long smear down from the side of his jaw and disappearing inside the still-damp looking shirt he still had on. 

Nodding, Alex takes a moment to survey the man in front of him. He looks exhausted, soft bruising under his eyes that’s almost the same colour as his uniform, waxy looking complexion. It’s depressing, Alex thinks to himself, the man was carved like a roman, but here he was, damp looking and lying far too close to just a boy. 

“Suppose.” The boy says, rubbing his eyes in attempts to wake him a little, shifting to get more comfortable on the stone like floor and rubbing his toes together to try and generate some warmth. The pilot laughs, reaching up and tucking a greased lock of hair back behind the soldiers ear. “Pulled you up on there myself,” he says, shifting to wipe a smudge of oil on the cuff of his shirt, shrugging off his jacket. 

Alex stares as he watches the pilots biceps strain against the stiff cotton of the shirt, and lets out a shaky breath as he messes the unruly blonde hair a little over his forehead. He supposes the pilot is gorgeous, a proper hit with the ladies at home, he’s probably got a wife, if not someone to write to, and the thought of it (unfortunately) makes Alex’s heart and stomach sink simultaneously. 

The pilot settles back down, shivers once to acclimatise himself to the cool dirt canvas on the ground and lets his fingertips press against the rough material of Alex’s trousers. The muscles in the younger man’s knees jump, as if to get closerclosercloser to the pilots worn and wrecked hands, and his face burns red in the shade of the late evening. 

Collins doesn't even have a blanket, but promises himself one cold night will be easy to get through when he felt all his hope was gone this afternoon when that bloody roof wouldn't come open for him, and his own beloved spitfire had caged him in its belly. He's much more worried about the dreams, although he daren’t admit it. 

They're facing each other for a moment before the pilot clears his throat softly. “Excuse the manners,” He laughs lowly, “I'm Collins,” He introduced himself, nodding, palm curling softly around Alex’s knee as he feels it jump again and he thumbs affectionately at the lower part of his thigh that he can reach. 

Alex smiles, weary, and shifts a bit closer, reaching a hand out from under the blasted dark cotton blanket and resting his knuckles against Collins’ bloodied ones. Some of the redness transfers to Alex’s own, and he doesn't mind, even though he's sick to death of death and blood and seeing his friends fall to their knees in surrender. “M’alex,” The younger says, glancing up at how the soft light that's sneaking in front somewhere dances across the features of the man opposite him.

Warmth is radiating between them, and it's kind of nice, Alex supposes, but he can't stop staring at this man’s fucking mouth, listening to the soft curve of his worth and how they're misshapen by his accent. 

There's men lying closer to the both of them. Tommy’s elbow is digging into Alex’s back and it's verging on painful, but he likes the comfort of being able to feel the soft spark of life each other the men around him had. It was nice to feel life again, instead of all encompassing water. Alex chokes all of a sudden, and Collins’ hand immediately grips his chin. “Look at me.” He orders lowly, and the young man's almost black eyes settle not on his own eyes, but on his mouth. 

Collins curls his long fingers around the lower column of Alex’s throat, feeling his haggard breaths, before removing his other palm from his knee and roughly gripping his cheek. “come on, lad, s’no water. This is solid ground.” The older promises, even though he himself can still feel his spitfire rocking with the motion of the waves that the crash had caused. 

Alex lets out a weak laugh, suddenly very aware of the warm hands on his skin. It was making him burn. He was about to combust right there, he was horrendously sure of it. Collins goes to let go, but Alex shakes his head very abruptly, choking with a weak and pitiful puppy noise from the back of his throat. “Please,” The young lad whispers, shifting closer as he presses his knee between the warm thighs of the pilot, his back curved so his face was mere centimetres from Collins. They could taste each other's breath. 

“Easy now, big boy,” the pilot laughs, seeing how Alex is almost drooling and staring at his lips with eyes as wide as saucers. The soldier scoffs gently, digging his wool covered toes a little painfully into the pilot's ankle bone. “Fuck off.” Alex says, with a bare, little piece of conviction, but he's dying to kiss this bloody pilot or he’s going to strangle him. 

The pilot snorts, thumb and forefinger squeezing the younger lads cheeks, pinching softly. “Whaddya say, Alex?” He hums nonchalantly, feeling the heat in the boy's face grow warmer with anger. The boy let’s out a soft and bit back laugh, another scoff, before his nose bumps the pilots a little violently as he presses himself closer still. 

Alex’s fingers are gripping at Collins’ shirt before he lets out a low and shaky breath, their mouths basically touching now. It’d be a proper waste not to kiss the older man now he could already taste the warmth of his mouth on the top of his tongue. “I told you to fuck off, mate,” He says, a little angrily, but still quiet, because he knows, God, does he know that they can't get caught. 

Their mouths touch in a violent flurry of knocking teeth and saliva sliding down Alex’s bottom lip and onto his chin. Collins is a little taken back, is still for a moment as he feels the soldier come apart while whining almost inaudibly into the pilot's mouth. He's a brave one, little Alex and Collins decides that he did almost die earlier today, and humouring this lad isn't gonna hurt anyone. 

Alex kisses different to anyone else Collins had ever had underneath his palms, kisses all deep and tongue like, so different from when he’d stolen a few chaste mouth on mouth ordeals with Farrier what seemed like years ago, tucked at the back of barracks or inside of ice cold showers, but not much like this. The soldier’s hands have moved from his shirt, and are curled into his blond hair as Collins finally moves, palm at the nape of the boy’s neck and mouth moving heartily with his. 

They stay like that for a while, Alex’s slender fingers brushing at the slight stubble on Collins’ cheeks and jaw, scratching dirt encrusted nails down his neck hard, no doubt leaving angry red lines. The soldier fumbles a little, licking into the older man's mouth as his fist curls around the dark navy tie and wraps it around his knuckles, tugging him closer. 

Collins lets out a grunt, warm into Alex's mouth, and slides his hand achingly slowly down his chest and over his stomach, tugging his shirt out from his belted trousers. “Watch it,” The pilot warns softly, and Alex scoffs, pulling away breathlessly to smirk with a wet, glistening mouth.

His fingers fumble a little with the opalescent buttons on Collins’ shirt, but manages to undo the first couple easily, and plants deep kisses over the soft skin. The older man's fingers are tightened in Alex’s hair, and he tugs his back up to eye level. “Let's not get distract now,” He tuts, sliding a large thumb over Alex’s bottom lip, feeling the younger lads hips shift. 

“It's so good not to taste fucking sea water,” He hisses, biting at the slight, fuschia swelling of his bottom lip, “Kiss me again, I can't sleep when it's there,” Alex chokes, and Collins makes the first move his time. 

His large hands settle on Alex’s burning skin, one comfortable as it has been for a while on his nape and the other gripping at one of his spindly wrists, a little controllingly. “I didn't mean for you to kiss me,” Collins mutters as Alex breaths in his words, and neither of them bother to stop kissing, never ceasing to feel the flutter of each other's rough bodies. 

“Shame,” Alex groans, reaching low for the pilots belt, somehow unbuckling it with ease and letting his fingertips dance over the almost familiar feeling length. It's thick in his palm, and he gives it a gentle squeeze, watching how the dim light illuminates Collins’ half rolling eyes. 

Collins stifles a groan with great difficulty, feeling the lad begin to work him with his hand, twisting and pulling as the older man digs his teeth into the hard muscle of his bicep, wetting the blue cotton of his shirt until it was black, in order to be quiet. Alex breaths heavily, wrist aching from the angle but rubbing the Collins’ length until the pilot’s leg kicks out involuntarily with his high and he comes all hotly over Alex’s knuckles. 

The young lad pants, somehow worn out from it all, and Collins looks at him, his blue eyes dark and fathoming now, swimming a little as Alex wipes his dirty knuckles into his handkerchief. They kiss again for a moment and Collins unbuttons Alex’s shirt down to the bottom, half inspecting the dirt and grime settled into muscle definition in the younger's hips and abdomen. The muscles in Alex’s tummy jump and wriggle as Collins slides a feather like touch from the point of his clavicle down to his waistband . 

Alex shakes under his palm, his hands brushing oh so gently up the pilot's back, and Collins is aware his almost on top of the boy now. None of this is dignified, but they hardly cared anymore. They just needed company, physical contact, and nothing screamed I'm needy quite like lust. 

Their hips move together, the material of their trousers whispering scratchily like a scarred record, and they moan into one another's mouths. It feels so good, so primal to be taking each other so violently in the corner of this tent, but Alex was burning with life and Collins wanted to be reminded that the world was just about still turning. 

Collins’ belt clinks against Alex's, the young lads hips bucking up off the floor as the pilot pulls down the soldiers trousers and pants, and their bare skin finally moves together. Alex feels like he could sob, and instead latches his teeth into Collins’ shoulder, sucking hard as his knee heel digs into the pilot's calf and his knee wobbles. 

The pilot fucks into him slow at first, one palm firm on his chest to stop him from squirming so much. Alex’s still gripping at Collins’ already messed up hair, the lights now dancing over them both. The older looks like god, Alex decides as his brain swims and the only ocean he could think of was the one that resided in Collins’ chest, the only drowning he could remember was inside the pilots jaws. 

Their hips move together faster as both near their high, and Alex throws his head back a little dramatically and arches his back into Collins’ chest, the pilots forearm is resting on the floor, his thumb nudging all affectionately into Alex’s cheek to make sure he was still there. His other palm gripped hard at his thigh, and the pilot lets out a slow moan as he unravels inside of the young boy, and Alex’s load spills onto his own bare stomach. 

Collins cleans him up with the dirty hanky, buttons both their shirts up so they won't freeze (although he doubts it after that debacle), and settles himself down, half under Alex’s blanket. The soldier is smirking at him, and slips his sweaty hair from his forehead before shifting closer once again. 

“What do you want now?” Collins asks, half teasing as he slowly curls an arm softly around Alex’s back, feeling the lad grin and smirk against his chest. “You're warm,” The younger says, not bothering to answer the question as he noses at Collins’ collar and lets out a huff before his breathing evens out and he's finally asleep; he's not dreaming of dying, or bullets or bombs or torpedoes, he dreams of nothing. 

The pilot stares up at the softly waving canvas of the tent above him, sure he sees Alex’s wiry mate blink at him before turning away hurriedly, but settles all the same, his left arm holding Alex to his broad chest. 

By the morning Collin is gone, and Alex shivers as he awakes, noticing a piece of paper tucked under his jacket that he’d used as a pillow. On it, are scrawled a regiment number and identification code, along with a blotted scribble. 

“Listen for Spitfire engines. I've got an eye on you. Collins.”


End file.
